“You mean!” exclaimed Bob. “You mean he——”
“He’s gone—yes! Paid what he owed and skipped out—he and that feller with the iron hook that came earlier in the evening. And say, there was something queer between them two.”
“Something queer?” questioned Bob.
“Sure! That dago was in a sweat of fear of the man with the hook. Why, even the monkey seemed to be scairt! I never see anything like it. Honest I didn’t.”
“Maybe they had some sort of a quarrel,” suggested Bob.
“Maybe. Though I didn’t hear anything of that. I did hear something, though, that made me think there was a phoney game in it.”
“What did you hear?” asked Bob.
“Why all along this dago has been calling himself Pietro—Pietro Margolis, you know.”
“Yes,” agreed the lad.
“Well, when he was going out—after paying what he owed me—and I must say he was fair and square—when he was going out he gave one last squeak to his organ—queer sort of a squeak, too.”